by Erik Boman
*
Mother had taken Peter to the park where he screamed in rollercoasters, shot air gun pellets at ugly vases and made faces at weird mirrors. He went to bed late, and Vangar had to snap his fingers to keep Peter alert through a tale of cheating, almost-sleeping dragons. When the story was over, Peter’s head seemed filled with lead. Before he could rise to put the book back in its box, dreams welled in over him and the book fell from his hand.
The following morning Peter woke with a start. He breathed out as he saw the book on the floor, on top of some books Peter’s sister had left in his room. Peter took his book and put it back in the box, hoping Vangar would not be angry.
That evening, Peter endured a story about a hopeless train whose goldfish-like memory always got it into trouble. As soon as his father left the room, Peter went to the bookshelf and then dove in under his blankets with his favourite book.
“Peter.” He could tell straight away by Vangar’s tone that something was wrong.
“Yes?” Peter said.
“You didn’t put the book back last night, did you?”
Peter swallowed. “I was about to, but I fell asleep.”
“I’ve told you it’s important.”
“I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just that – Peter, where exactly did you leave me?”
“On the floor.”
“Was there something else on the floor? Another book, perhaps?”
“Yes, one of my sister’s.”
“And which book was that?”
Peter thought. “Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Ah. That make sense.”
“Why?”
Vangar sighed. “Because, my dear, sleepy friend, there’s a wolf here.”
Peter frowned. “There are wolves everywhere in Zot. Last week you told me –”
“No, Peter. A new wolf. A big one, too. Inside the castle. That’s a first.”
“Um. Okay.”
“You’ve read your sister’s book, right?”
“Yes,” Peter said.
Vagnar was silent. Peter knew Vangar waited for something.
Then he understood.
“You mean the wolf came from another book?” Peter asked.
“Aha.”
“How?”
“Good stories are never far from real life, Peter. The walls are thin, you might say. The box is there for a reason.”
“I understand,” Peter lied. “Is it dangerous?”
“He’s harmless enough, but the poor thing’s confused. He’s been running around the corridors all night yapping about some abusive hunter.”
“Oh,” Peter said.
“He’ll be fine, though. This morning the local wolf pack came and talked sense into him. Now they’re all sitting on the cliff, ogling the moon as usual. But don’t let it happen again, all right?”
“I won’t,” Peter said, and he meant it.
That night, Peter giggled and cheered as Vangar told of how he’d tricked a giant with house-sized fists and a fortunate phobia of rodents. When the story was over, Peter made sure the book was safe inside its box and then fell asleep.
